


Carnal Feral Sinful

by cinderadler



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Handcuffs, Leather, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, No Angst, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Spreader Bars, Stripping, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29072493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderadler/pseuds/cinderadler
Summary: “What is it?” He asks, genuinely curious. It pricks his lips into a grin, like a cat playing with a mouse. “Some looming dread, some fear when you think of what we could do...” He lets the words roll off his tongue, trying not to touch her to persuade her. “Are you afraid of me, Slayer?”“No--” She starts, breaking. She fidgets as she turns to look him in his dark, full eyes. “I’m afraid of what I want to do to you.”(A spiritual sequel to Bruise Me, not all that related though.)
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Kudos: 5





	Carnal Feral Sinful

“Isn’t it a bit hot for the coat, Spike?” The Slayer closes in on the slim, platinum blonde, stunned by his insistence on the coat even on this cosy June night.

“Room temperature, killer.” He points to his chest. “No heartbeat so no heat.” He justifies as Buffy walks him back against the alley wall.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” She posits as he kicks his heels into the brick side of the Magic Box. “What are you thinking, bad guy?” Buffy presses Spike, jabbing a finger into his chest before she lifts him by his neck against a wall.

“Now you bring it up;” Spike leers at her, admiring her handiwork. “I’m thinking carnal. _Feral_. _Sinful_...” Spike hisses over Buffy’s wrist.

“Dreadful.” She ties off his sentiment, tight-lipped, making a face that says more than she ever could.

“My pride!” He sucks his teeth dramatically. “That’s gonna’ sting in the morning.” Spike recoils with a smile, eyeing up the Slayer as she looks away from him. “What is it?” He asks, genuinely curious. It pricks his lips into a grin, like a cat playing with a mouse. “Some looming dread, some fear when you think of what we could do...” He lets the words roll off his tongue, trying not to touch her to persuade her. “Are you afraid of me, Slayer?” The irony is rich Buffy’s rolled eyes.

“No--” She starts, breaking. She fidgets as she turns to look him in his dark, full eyes. “I’m afraid of what I want to do to you.” Her words are a whisper from the Gods in Spike’s ear.

“Say-” He closes his eyes for a moment, faltering in his lording and leering. “-say that again.” He asks her; it’s not an order, but he wants to hear those words again with everything left in his body.

“I’m afraid of what I want. To do. To you.” She softens her grip and lets the vampire down onto his feet again.

“You can hang me back if you like.” He suggests with a masking laugh, feeling his insides contort at Buffy’s lustful confession.

“Maybe later.” She repairs with a smile. “Not enough hours in the day.” She taunts him. As she steps back to leave, Spike reaches for her hand and catches her wrist. He looks at her earnestly before pulling his hands back to splay them wide in front of his chest in a ‘no contest’ gesture. “I’m yours.” He tells her, leaning back to the wall as he does. “And I’m free all week.”

“I’ll come, when I’m good and ready.” She kids with him as she walks away, facing him. He lights a cigarette.

“I’ll make sure of it, luv.” He wears a tawdry grin, raising two fingers holding the cigarette to her as she turns away. The night draws on. Spike saunters back to his crypt, flicking cigarette ends to the sidewalk as he pounces through the streets. The moony Sunnydale looks bleak, even in the summer; just the way he likes it. He doesn’t bat an eye at the stragglers he could pick off for pleasure. His mind’s on something else: Sunnydale’s sultriest genuine blonde.

That day, and the few after, Spike dreams of trapping Buffy. Against a wall behind the campus gym, bent back on a table in the Bronze, pressed onto the wet earth in Kingman’s Bluff with a view of the set sun; places and places again for endless friction, dark corners they could share loudly in such relentless daylight.

These restless thoughts follow him through the graveyard when he walks most nights and pursue him into alleys when he makes illicit night trips to the butchers or Vinny’s. He’s so tangled in the thinking that he barely notices the feeling of it until he’s mere feet from his crypt. He hears a heartbeat racing, catches notes of perfume in the air; Buffy? _Back at last. Couldn’t stay away..._

Entering, he announces his knowledge of her, he thinks taking the edge off the surprise. But, as he looks upon her, he couldn’t be more wrong.

“This is a surprise. Did you have a bad day or somethin’?” At the far side of the crypt, Buffy smiles to herself, her back to the door where Spike is. From there, he takes in the view of Buffy, stood taller in black stilettos and cutting a long shadow in a black leather coat. Her perfume lures Spike closer, step by step, as he smells his own cigarette musk mingled with. “Is that my coat, pet?”

“Better come and check the tag.” He takes the bait, and ambles over to her. She sweeps her loose hair away from the collar with her opposite hand stretched back. Spike approaches her with soft steps, sticking two fingers into the back of the coat and hooking them to pull it from her skin.

“Like I’d write my name on the tag.” He scoffs softly, watching the light reveal more of her soft skin.

“Like you would bother to check!” She laughs softly, turning her head to him. He skims those hooked fingers along the neckline of his coat along to the shoulder, confirming his suspicion as he speaks it.

“Are you not wearing anything else?” He asks with lust on his tongue, and a pinch of surprise. He hears Buffy hum a slight note as he runs his fingers over her bare shoulder, finding no straps or sleeves, no fishnet or fabric of any kind. “Slayer—” He whispers in her ear, sinking his hand down the neck of the coat to massage her breast. “You never fail to surprise me.”

“You think this is for you, big boy?” She leans her head back onto his shoulder, cascading her hair back in doing so. “This is all for me.” Spike watches a deep smile enrich her lips before he leans in, leading away a lock of hair with his other hand, and kisses her neck.

“Yes, ma’am.” He murmurs against her skin between the first kiss and the second. With a hand under his chin, she guides Spike around to her front, kissing him fully. Their mouths are ferocious, sticking to each other with hunger. Spike raises both hands and wraps them, thumbs upwards against the back of her jaw, around Buffy’s neck, pulling her face closer to his. Even when they breathe, they steal each other’s air.

Buffy moans into Spike’s mouth as she pushes a finger into his breastbone to give her the distance to show off. She moves her hands to his shirt collar and rips it clean open, down the centre, leaning him back against the lidded crypt within the crypt.

“Check the bag.” She tells him, skimming her long nails over his pale chest. Grinning and sinking his teeth into his lip, Spike leans his arms behind himself to fight his fingers into the black kit bag Buffy was referring to. He feels cold metal beneath his touch: leather at one end, he can’t feel the other. A pole? Dragging it forward, he hears a set of handcuffs move too.

“Here to misbehave?” He baits her as he grabs whatever he can touch without looking away from Buffy. “Tell me what you want--” He lifts the cuffed bar and cuffs between them. “-and see it done.” Spike gloats in the moment. _Toys, twice the fun_. He traps the bar between his teeth. Buffy offers a knowing smile back to him as she unbuckles his belt and pulls it out in a sharp, clean motion. Spike feels himself get harder at the display of unbridled strength. She lifts it over his head and then wraps it around his neck from behind to pull him up from where he’s leant.

“I think you have something of mine.” She murmurs, pressing her lips to his cheek. “Open wide.” Her words are silver lined but warm on his skin. He would do anything for her right now. Spike does as he is told and lets the spreader bar go from his mouth, letting Buffy take it as she folds his fingers around the cuffs he’s dangling from two fingers.

Spike snaps his teeth at Buffy as she lets the belt go, tossing it behind him as she manoeuvres him with a hand at his ribs, twisting their bodies so she is backed up to the topped crypt. Spike rattles the cuffs as he leans in to kiss Buffy again, snaking a hand along her waist and up to the back of her head. She kisses back briefly before she separates their bodies with the bar, nudging him away enough so she is offering him a cuffed end.

“Do them tight, for me?” She purrs, watching him wriggle at the request. The Slayer snaps her heels onto the stone floor and watches as Spike kneels in front of her, half undressed. He carefully wraps a leather cuff around Buffy’s slim ankle and pulls the slip tight inside it’s buckles, listening to her catch her breath at the pull. He tucks the slip tail onto itself and runs his other hand down the length of the spreader bar until it reaches the other cuff. Slipping his fingers under it, he lifts it up in his hand he brings it back to her pressed ankles, dragging her knees apart at the ankles, teasing the bar down with his guiding, certain fingers. He tightens the other cuff around her ankle and looks up to see her poised against the stone, watching him. As he stands, he lets his fingers skirt the coat edges, watching it slip to reveal her pale skin to the moonlight. She calls him closer with a curled finger, walking him over the bar, and rests her arms around his neck, looking into his eyes.

“Buffy, you’re gonna’ kill me.” He murmurs, draping his hands around his waist, teasing his body onto hers. She sits up a little, using her arms to push him down to his knees again.

“Not before the night’s out, I hope.” She laughs, leaning into to kiss him as she pushes him to the floor. He lifts himself up on his knees as she feels her hand around his for the handcuffs he’s still got ringed around two fingers. “Now it’s your turn.” She speaks against his lips between sticky kisses, settling one cuff around Spike’s wrist as he nods against her. She works by touch alone when she guides both of Spike’s hands behind his back. Threading the empty cuff and the chain over the bar, Buffy offers Spike’s wrist into the other cuff and closes it.

“Ohh, this is torment.” Spike grins at her, giving the cuffs a soft wrench behind his back to prove that he couldn’t touch her if he wanted to; and he _wanted_ to. Pleased, Buffy slips her hands up to her collar and then down achingly slowly to the coat’s buttons, undoing each one at a time, letting the leather slip apart over her as Spike kneels, helpless at her knees. He watches with hunger, licking his lips as he leans to one side and presses a soft kiss to her thigh.

Wrapped in moonlight, Buffy slides the coat down her arms and feels it fall from her shoulders, slipping away from her pert breasts, and pooling at her waist like tar. She lets her hands climbs towards Spike’s begging head. “I’ve been dreaming of this for days.” The Slayer admits to Spike as he is rapt between her thighs. “You’re welcome.” She lilts her words.

Craving the taste of her, Spike drags his tongue along the inside of Buffy’s thigh until he reaches her pussy. Leaning forward against his cuffs, itching to feel every inch of her, he kisses her clit before he sucks it gently, holding the Slayer to his lips as he looks up at her from beneath. Knowing he is doing everything within his power to stay knelt, he flicks his tongue over her clit as he lets her go for a moment. The air in the crypt is mild, it nips their skin despite the heat between them. With a devilish smirk, he glances up at Buffy’s soft face, and her gaping, bitten lips. As he leans forward again, he can’t take his eyes from hers, watching her expression as he teases his tongue inside her and curls it upwards. She moans aloud, squirming around him, bringing her hand up to her hair to push it out of her face.

Further still, he flicks his tongue into the taste of her, pausing only to lick up to her clit. He eats her out with hunger. Closing his eyes, he listens to the Slayer’s breathing as it rises and sticks with every deep flick of his tongue. He rattles against his restraints as he hears her moan his name. Every breath that shallows makes him want to rip the cuffs off and drag his tongue up her centre until he reaches her mouth to devour her twice. He moans against her wet skin as she breathes him a command to slow down, she wants to ride this high. Obliging, Spike wraps his lips around her clit and sucks it softly.

“Fuck, Spike.” She whispers to him, running her fingers through his hair and pulling his head closer to her. He smiles and slowly runs his tongue flat over her tingling skin. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip as she catches her breath again, holding his gaze. “You can break the cuffs.” She tells him in a shallow breath and then repeats her request as he hums a resonant ‘thank you’ to her. “Break them.” He tugs his wrists apart deftly and the chain between the cuffs gives. He tips his head in joy as he leans back enough to slink each hand to Buffy’s ankle cuffs, unclipping her from the bar and letting it clatter to the stone underfoot. His hands freed from behind him, Spike runs his splayed fingers up from Buffy’s ankles, smoothing them along her calves and fingers first down the inside of her thighs. With a thumb each side, he spreads her lips apart sinks his tongue inside her once more. “Fuck me.” She asks as he draws back, running his hands over her writhing waist and cupping her breasts.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He almost sings to her as pulls a hand back to unbutton his jeans as she snakes a hand under his elbow to unzip his fly. Wrestling his waistband lower with quick fingers, Spike sucks his thumb and runs it across the head of his throbbing cock. Looking over her as he guides himself inside her, Spike watches Buffy as she feels him enter her.

He is certain nothing could feel better than his hard cock sliding into her, being held by her, holding her body into his with a wrapping arm as she pulls him close. There is no air for them to breathe and they do not need it. Spike rolls his hips and thrusts again, luxuriating in the slickness of it all. He draws his hips back and pushes again, feeling his heart pounding with each deep thrust.

It’s so easy. Everything is effortless as he sinks into her. He leans himself down over her, falling into her blue pool eyes as he fucks her. He adores her in every way he can, kissing his way up her neck to her mouth. His lips stifle her moans of pleasure as he feels her thighs tremble against his. She shifts her waist onto his ever further, pushing into his bucking hips. Buffy wants to feel him entirely, deeply, inside her. They are breathless, pressed against each other. As he unsticks their deep kiss, Spike brings his lips to Buffy’s earlobe and sucks it between his teeth, making her squirm.

“You taste so good.” He whispers to her with her earlobe between his teeth, bucking his hips.

“I want you where I can taste you.” She gasps, turning her lips to his ear as he lets her earlobe free. “And, harder.” She whispers, setting a chaste kiss on Spike’s ear as best she can. He moans, rolling his eyes, as she tells him a secret under her breath that she wants to feel him in her stomach. She entwines their fingers together as she guides his hand under hers to the centre spot between her hip bones. Under her light touch pushing his palm down, Spike can feel his cock push through her hips. Buffy clenches her thighs, as she holds his fingers, choking out “Oh God” at a silent high as she comes, arching her back into his embrace.

She catches her heavy breath, as she lifts her head and looks Spike in the eye longingly, letting her lips curl into a smile as he pulls out and lets her dip down to her knees. As she slips her body from the crypt, his coat melts with her.

”Having fun?” She asks him with a soft, indulgent smile before wrapping her blushed lips around his cock. He blinks and gasps as he feels her mouth hot on him. She sucks her cheeks in as she cranes her neck and Spike groans gutturally.

“Oh, God, Buffy...” He utters, close to climax. Buffy lifts her hands up to cradle his ass, pulling him closer. As Spike tilts his hips softly into her mouth, he reaches a hand down to steady her head. He chokes on his breath as he comes, feeling her nails dig into his cheeks. She coughs, surprised, but swallows, letting him go having left a mark.

“We never quite get to the bed, do we?” Spike pants, resting a hand around Buffy’s cheek and ear, lifting her back to standing. The handcuff presses into her jawbone. “Guess it’s not our style.” He sticks out his tongue as he ties off his summation. “Don’t go all weak at the knees on me now.” He teases her as she leans her weight against his, finding her footing as her stiletto slides easily across the dust.

“You first.” She hums, sliding an arm around his waist. He nods with a wide, toothy smile and walks towards his made bed, taking Buffy by her empty hand as they stagger together. “I should probably find the key for those.” She mumbles lightly, shaking her hand in his to rattle the cuff on his wrist.

“Don’t you like them? I think they’re fetching. Brings out my eyes.” He rattles his free wrist up to his face and rests a hand over his left eye, turning to look back at the Slayer.

“Whatever you say, hotshot.” She giggles at him, feeling an overwhelming want to curl up into him and sleep. She feels herself being picked up on to Spike’s bed and tucked against him as she closes her eyes. In this corner of darkness, the world is theirs and it’s quiet until the sun comes up.

They’re awoken hours later by the ambient light spilling into the middle of the crypt. Spike adjusts his eyes by smudging his wrist against his eyelids and is reminded immediately of the night before. The half of a pair of cuffs smashes into his eyebrow. He lifts his other arm off Buffy’s waist and runs those fingers around the cuff, trying to work out if he can fit two or three inside it to pry it loose. Beside him, Spike hears Buffy roll over and turns to face her, his fingers still lingering on the handcuff.

“I heard promises of a key last night.” He whispers into her scalp, feeling her nearest arm climb up his forearm and play with his fingers sleepily.

“Mmm, I will find it; as fetching as they are on you.” She murmurs, her throat is dry.

“You’re a treasure, pet.” Spike mumbles as he turns his body into hers, chasing a string of loose-lipped kisses from Buffy’s ear down her neck. He follows the line he’s drawing to her right nipple and catches it in his lips, slipping his free hand over her collarbones to squeeze her left breast. Buffy’s fingers, now unoccupied with Spike’s, drag gently up the back of his neck where they sink into his roots. Working his hand back up to Buffy’s open mouth, he offers two fingers to her which she rests on her tongue and sucks. Flicking his tongue over her nipple, again and again, he pulls his wet fingers back and traces them to her thighs. Splitting her knees with his ankle, Spike teases his licked fingers into Buffy as he sucks her nipple. She moans lightly, using her fingers in his hair to pull his head up to hers, feeling his long fingers push up to the knuckle and curl. He wriggles his wrist and rocks his hooked fingers inside her, losing his breath when Buffy tilts his head to one side to bite his neck. Feeling her wetness on his palm, and delirious at the growing warmth of Buffy sucking the skin beneath his jaw, Spike stretches in a third finger. The Slayer hums a moan against Spike’s skin. As she runs her tongue over it, it vibrates in his throat while he fingers her.

“A little more.” She elicits, pressing her lips to his jaw, sliding further down the bed onto his knuckles. He spreads his fingers slightly inside her, pressing his lip to her jaw where it joins her ear. He moans into her ear as she whispers into his: ‘you _do_ bruise easy’. He sucks his lower lip in as he grins, rolling his wrist under Buffy’s hips. He pinches her bruised nipple with his free hand, relishing how she chokes on a rising moan. He quickens his fingers, trying to listen to her breath alone. He is thrown off when the Slayer sinks her teeth into his earlobe. He rights his gaze as she lets it go, searching her pool-eyes for words they can’t bring to their tongues. Feeling her thigh muscles quiver against his forearm, Spike smirks as he slows his thrusts to simply tip Buffy over the edge and down a slow hill of a comedown. “Are you close?” He utters under his breath, breathing out against her lips as she lets her mouth fall open. Wrapped up in Spike and breathless, Buffy lets out a shallow moan when he flicks his fingers like he did his tongue, eking his hand away. She tilts her head back on her shoulders as she watches Spike suck the tips of his fingers, feeling her skin throbbing and empty without him. She rolls her hips like a summer ocean as she feels herself succumb to a washing placidity. _Spike is a morning person, who knew?_

“You hungry?” He asks her with a soft growl, thrilled by the slow flutter of her eyelids.

“You want breakfast?” Buffy watches him, wide-eyed, basking in the fading orgasm.

“I’ll go so far as to make breakfast.” He offers quietly, sitting back. “I’m not an awful cook.” He defends himself, watching as a smile pricks her lips lazily. He’s proud to have intrigued her. “Come on.” Spike offers his hand to her, moments after those fingers were playing inside her. “And, careful, these are wet.” She laughs lightly, taking his hand as he pulls her up.

“At my house, I take it?” Buffy teases him as she begins to ease herself out of his bed. As the sheet slips away from her, Spike is caught in a thought that she looks like a Grecian statue, one of so many artworks he destroyed in a former life. He watches the Slayer wrap herself up in his coat as she gathers her bag. Catching the key in her sight, she picks it up and flicks it over to Spike to undo his lingering cuffs. He catches it, ducking out of the sun leaking in, and lets her now broken handcuffs drop to the ground. “And what’s your plan?” She watches him take his time redressing, finding the pieces of clothes he discards to the floor last night. She marvels at the sight of him pulling the whole look together before he then wraps his head and shoulders in a blanket and slips his hands into a pair of slinky, elbow length pleather gloves.

“Sexy, no?” Spike laughs aloud, posing as he stands there.

“It’s hard to keep my hands off you.” She comments, buttoning Spike’s coat closed over her naked body.

“I have other clothes you can wear, you know?” He offers as he approaches Buffy, running his hands down her lithe figure, smoothing the coat over every curve.

“But I bet they wouldn’t look _this_ good on me?” She plays with him, laying it on thick, pulling his blanket closed around his neck like her hand is a brooch on his cape.

“You’ve got me there, lamb.” He admits, tilting his head back on his neck to appreciate the view a final time before it gets blurred by the sun. The fair distance between his cracked crypt and Revello Drive is a sweaty affair for Spike as he practically sprints it. As much as he would love to amble and watch the Slayer stalks the streets in his coat and her slightly dusty heels, he doesn’t want to catch fire doing so. Waiting for her, he ducks into a patch of shade near her porch, surrendering his blanket to the earth as he breathes heavily.

Taking her sweet time, Buffy struts the sidewalk up to Spike as he idolises her doing so. He leans his side against a tall, shady tree and lights a cigarette, watching her walk as though the very earth is hers. His mouth still tastes of her, he notes, sucking a finger against his cigarette. Arriving gracefully, Buffy sweeps past him with a brushing of her fingers against his shirt sleeve, pulling him with her as she strides to her front door. Scrabbling for the blanket, Spike misses it and is forced to tug his shirt by the collar over his face as he ducks inside her house.


End file.
